


Men of Letters and Mahogany

by Callisto



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 08, down in the batcave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Dean!”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Hey, Sammy.” It was quiet, almost reverential, not matching Sam’s panicky tone at all. Sam’s hands went out on a reflex to stop them both from falling, and found Dean’s hips enclosed in some very soft towelling. Dean was in dead guy robe again, most definitely commando underneath, and holy shit, he smelled incredible. Something deeply spiced and very expensive.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Men of Letters and Mahogany

Sam was on his own for two days, though he could’ve sworn Dean had said it would be three. Dean had made him swear he would leave the damn books alone long enough to eat – had even made him a pan of blow-your-brains-out chili sauce and left it in the fridge of their ridiculously well-equipped kitchen. (No microwave, Sammy, the hell you say well-equipped).

Dean disappeared upstairs pretty sharply after coming back, but not before doing something weird. Which for Dean, was saying something.

“Um... Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean’s head snapped up from where he’d been...well, _staring_. 

“You okay?”

“What? Yeah. I’m...” Dean took a step toward Sam, then seemed to catch himself. “I’m taking a shower. That is what I’m doing.” He said it defiantly, like Sam was arguing with him.

“And?”

“And nothing. You...you stay there. You stay right _there_.” 

Sam watched Dean take the stairs two at a time and thought about calling Garth to find out exactly where Kevin was these days, and if it was guarded by fairy dust or something. But first he’d see what a shower and a meal would do. Dean could get loopy on too much driving when he chose the wheel instead of sleep. 

Sam turned back to a—be still his heart—hand written translation of an aramaic scroll on angels and their feathers he had a feeling was going to be more important than his dumbass brother letting his blood sugar dip.

Sam heard the sound of Dean’s footfalls on the stairs an indeterminate time later, but he didn’t look up. “There’s some pasta left, Dean, just heat it up in the pan if you want. Hey did you know...?”

Sam would never know if Dean did or not, because Dean was suddenly pushing Sam’s chair back to almost tipping point so he could maneuver himself over Sam’s lap.

“Dean!”

“Hey, Sammy.” It was quiet, almost reverential, not matching Sam’s panicky tone at all. Sam’s hands went out on a reflex to stop them both from falling, and found Dean’s hips enclosed in some very soft towelling. Dean was in dead guy robe again, most definitely commando underneath, and holy shit, he smelled incredible. Something deeply spiced and very expensive. 

“Dean...” Sam said again, swallowing. His dick was stirring, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. He hadn’t had Dean in his lap ever, never mind his arms. He’d had him against a wall occasionally, in dark corners and under the covers in angry bursts of tension and desperation, but this... God, this he hadn’t had since they were first back on the road together.

“What are...? I mean, are we...?” Christ, his mouth was dry and he couldn’t get the words out. He was also mortified to realize he was shaking a little.

“Jeez, for a Man of Letters, Sammy, you’re not getting many out right now.” All said with Dean’s hands framing Sam’s face, thereby taking out any and all sarcasm.

Sam blinked once, twice. And Dean kept on sitting there, holding Sam’s face and crinkling those green eyes at him. Sam slid his hands to the small of Dean’s back and Dean’s smile just got wider.

Sam had little choice at that point but to tip Dean forward the rest of the way.

A mismatch of teeth, a rub of noses, and then...oh god, then it was perfect. Dean had had coffee on the road. And whiskey since coming back. Sam chased the taste of both and the kiss got dirty fast. Dean started rolling his hips, the friction on Sam’s dick in his jeans maddeningly sweet and not near enough. Dean broke off first, hips still moving as he panted and rested his forehead on Sam’s. 

“Fucking missed you. Thought of you, here, in that.” Dean put his hands on Sam’s chest. “With that stupid smile on your face when you know new things... And I just... I want to be _here_. With you.”

“You are, man. You are.” Sam still wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but then again, an awful lot of blood was going south fast. Sam slid his hands into the robe, straight around and down to Dean’s ass. Dean groaned against Sam’s neck, bit him there. 

“You’re wearing too much, Sam.”

In answer, Sam wrapped a hand around Dean’s cock, loving it when Dean groaned and snapped his hips even higher. Sam pushed the robe off Dean’s shoulders, desperate to see. He looked down at the fat, pink head showing through his grip and his mouth watered. He licked his lips but there was no way, not from that angle. 

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy...” breathed Dean, levering himself awkwardly out of Sam’s lap and grip. “Nuh-uh, I got plans.”

So hard and tight in his jeans he could barely think, it took Sam a minute to realize that Dean’s plans did not include either an upstairs bed or a downstairs sofa.

“Where...?”

“So fucking, hot. Sam.” Dean was unzipping him, pushing him around until the top of Sam’s legs hit something solid. “Wanted to suck you off on this ever since we got here.” 

“Oh my god, Dean.” Sam wanted to protest, he really did. He was pretty sure an Aramaic original had just hit the floor, and that some very important document about Noah's Ark was currently stuck to his ass. But then Dean had him on his back, had his jeans all the way down and off and was clambering up there with him, biting and sucking a trail across Sam’s jaw. 

“Up, Sammy. C’mon, move. We got acres of mahogany here to fuck around on.”

Sam groaned. That really shouldn’t be as hot as it was. He shimmied as best he could and put his hands to his sweatervest to haul it off together with his shirt, because who was he kidding this wasn’t happening?

“No,” said Dean. He shook his head, even as he twisted down to lick a stripe up Sam’s cock. “Leave it on, Sammy. Fucking love you in that thing. So fucking _smart_.” Dean punctuated that with another long lick, and then a good, strong suckle to the crown of Sam’s dick. Sam thunked his head back, tried not to see stars just yet, and reached for his brother. “You,” he panted, as he grabbed hold of Dean’s thigh, “have the weirdest kinks. Now let me at you.”

They had only sixty-nine’d once before – high and giggly on weed after they’d saved a grateful hippy from a poltergeist way back in their first summer back on the road together. No weed this time to make it all beautiful, so it was sloppy and a little uncoordinated–Dean’s thighs squeezed Sam’s head so fucking hard at one point—but he still couldn’t get enough of the sensations. Dean never stopped licking and sucking, even for a second.When Dean started humming, Sam came so hard he did see stars, just for a second. So he stuck his finger in Dean’s ass and Dean promptly spasmed right out of Sam’s mouth and came all over everything; Sam’s chin, Sam’s chest, his sweater, the table...

The table.

“Dean...”

“Mother... _fucker_...”

“No, Dean... Dean, move.”

Dean went up on one elbow, still breathing heavily. “Patience, Sammy. Need a little more recovery time than that, dude.” Still, he eased his right leg off Sam. 

Sam also got himself up on one elbow. He surveyed the damage. The card catalogue was behind them and mercifully upright and unscattered. Some documents looked a little crumpled and one definitely had an assprint that would need ironing out when Dean wasn’t looking. A couple of books had slid to the floor out of harms way, but wait, where was...?

“No, no, no...” Sam lurched forward. This particular book had been open when Dean had surprised him, and was now looking very ungainly indeed. The ancient leather cover seemed intact, but a page was torn, one was crumpled, and worse still...

Sam held the book up, wrinkling his nose as something unmistakeable slowly slid off one of the pages and dropped ever so gently onto the wood.

“You jizzed on Herodotus!”

Dean lifted his head from where he’d lain back down on the table. “Yeah?” Dean sounded smug, the bastard.

“On...on Herodutus!” sputtered Sam. “On a lost journal of his encounter with a prequel to the Word of God!”

Dean, seemingly unimpressed by the magnitude of his sin, had put his head back down and was scratching his stomach.

“Dean!”

“What? Herr Odittus can kiss my kraut free ass. Now get over here, man. You’re harshing my glow.”

A hand flap and apparently Dean was done.

Sam tried to hold on to his outrage, he really did. But Dean wasn’t the only one who had just come his brains out, and he’d forgotten how much of a stoner Dean could be after a good orgasm. Besides, it wasn’t as if it was the only Herodotus journal in the collection. Sam bit his lip and put the book down carefully. He would take Dean’s reaction as a compliment, and not smack upside the head the man who had decided sex as well as home cooked burgers and a room of their own was back on the table between them.

Literally.

 

“Sorry ‘bout your book, Sammy.”

Dean was pressed all along Sam’s right side. Sam had indulged Dean’s need for glow and was lying back on the table next to him. Only for a couple of minutes, he’d told himself, because this was truly fucking ridiculous...

Dean smacked his lips and turned onto his side. He flung an arm out across Sam’s chest and squeezed.

Sam squeezed back, pulled the robe he’d thrown over both of them a little higher. “It’s your book, too, asshole,” he said. “You owe me shower sex for a week.”

Sam was pretty sure Dean nodded before the snore came.

******


End file.
